


Prompt #1: "What the hell were you thinking? You could have been hurt.”

by roombagreyjoy



Category: Ragnarok (TV 2020)
Genre: Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Non-Graphic Violence, because let's be honest it's me who wrote it what did you expect, laurits being a good brother (he's doing his best), laurits is neurodivergent you can't change my mind, laurits' train of thought is as scattered as mine was when i wrote this, magne is just continously bemused, more like mentions of violence really but nothing remotely serious nor disturbing, poorly executed pop culture references, rating is there for swearing really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roombagreyjoy/pseuds/roombagreyjoy
Summary: Magne tells Laurits what happened.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	Prompt #1: "What the hell were you thinking? You could have been hurt.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a Tumblr Anon who requested the following: "Prompt - "What the hell were you thinking? You could have been hurt." And someone from Ragnarok? (Preferably Laurits lmao) there's not enough content for this show tbh"
> 
> Well, be the change you want to see in the world, am I right? I hope Anon did not have high expectations for this, because honestly, I tried my best. But one can only do so much with half a brain cell. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> !!!!! DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION !!!!!

_“What the hell were you thinking? You could have been hurt.”_

The answer came just a second too late. His brother, as always, was lost deep in his own thoughts, oblivious to the outside world except for those occasions he deemed worthy of his attention. Laurits really, _really_ could not understand this. Magne was opening his mouth to reply already, at a wearing speed if Laurits may say so himself, so he beat his brother to it, robbing him of a chance to explain himself.

“You really have changed since we came to Edda,” he said.

“I told you!” Magne protested. “I-”

“You’ve got _stupider_.”

“Hey!”

“Hey.”

Magne was silent again, but this time he replied in time to avoid one of his younger brother’s viper-like comments.

“… That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Laurits was being vicious with him today, for some reason. Unfairly so, thought Magne. “Isn’t it, truly, my brother dear?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Alright.”

“You’re being kind of a dick, you know.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t even hesitate to reply. Not once. Then again, he never did. Magne didn’t know what had got into him, but he knew that the blame was probably on his shoulders. At least from his brother’s perspective.

“Look… I tried explaining it to you, but if you’re going to keep on being an asshole about it and tell me that you don’t believe me… _again_ …”

Laurits stared at him intently, waiting for him to finish the sentence for the first time since they sat down in their _beautiful, precious, lavender blue_ living room. Kitchen? Lounge? The house was way too small to try and categorise every room in it. Not that there were many, anyway.

And it was godawfully horrible. The house, he meant. The floors creaked, the water pressure was practically non-existent, the wind came through the ancient wooden planks in the walls and the floor, through the carpet and the wallpaper, taking hold of him even when he curled up under the blankets, deep in his bones… the neighbourhood was pretty much a ghetto. And Magne still could not get along with his goddamn sentence. Laurits really needed a Valium at that point. Or a couple shots of vodka. And a cigarette.

“So?” He basically _beseeched_ Magne to continue.

“So what?!”

“Well. Carry on.”

Wayward son.

This _really_ wasn’t the time for that. Pay attention. Your brother’s talking. Or. Well. He’s trying to talk.

“You didn’t believe me the first time. And you don’t believe me now either.”

“Magne…”

“You said I couldn’t throw a hammer that far.”

“You wouldn’t survive being run over by a snowplough either. And yet. Here we are.”

“So, you believed that?”

“I never _believe_ anything, Magne. Trust is for fools.”

“So?” This time was his older brother’s turn. Laurits found it funny for some reason. It probably wasn’t funny, but at that point he was on the brink of an anxiety attack, or a fit of laughing hysteria. Which may actually let loose some of the tension he’d been building up for the past few days, anyway, so that might be productive.

“See, this is why we’re different. _You_. You don’t _look_. You don’t _pay attention_. You don’t _corroborate_ anything.” He said.

“And you do.”

“You bet your ass I do.”

“So what? That makes me an idiot?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I’m not your uh… headmistress.” He smirked at the thought. The memory, more like. Oh, what a glorious day. And everyone was looking. He was nervous, but confident. The anxiety made him feel alive. He couldn’t perform without it. And performing, _that he did_. He was born for it. The theatrics, the drama of it all… a mischief well made, a perfect execution.

Oh. He was going to be grounded forever.

Oh. It was so worth it.

Although, on second thought, not being on the Jutul’s good graces might present a problem or two in the future. Perhaps _he_ was the idiot.

That was a problem for future him, however.

And, besides, if what Magne had told him was even remotely true, the stunt he pulled in front of the ever-so-charming people from the town of Edda (more like village, ugh) and their _lovely_ headmistress was the least of his concerns.

He didn’t know how much Magne knew. He didn’t know how much he knew himself. He knew some stuff, of course, but it didn’t seem to be enough. All he knew is that the Jutuls knew more than them. Probably more than them combined and multiplied twice. And that was a problem.

Vidar laying unconscious, or probably dead (because Magne was too much of a wuss to check… either that or he really was way more fucked up by the fight than he claimed he was) was also, if he may say so himself, the very definition of a problem.

He could fix it though. He was always fixing his brother’s fuck-ups. His mother’s. He always fixed _everyone’s_ fuck-ups. Fair enough, he caused more problems than the solved. But that didn’t matter.

He was a kid, for crying out loud. Or was he? Had he _always_ been a kid? Was he still? Can you be a kid if you’re stripped of your childhood, with a dead father, a constantly moving, constantly changing housing situation, a detached mother and a brother as thick as a brick? He understood why Magne was the way he was. Sometimes he wondered why he hadn’t ended up that way as well.

“Hm.” He hummed, seeing Magne was not likely to continue the conversation. “So. Thor.”

“Yes. Thor.”

“Yes Thor.”

“That’s… that’s what I said.”

“And _Gry_ also knows.”

“And Gry also knows.”

“How much does she know?”

“As much as you. Maybe less… maybe more. Whatever Fjor has told her.”

A pinch in his stomach. That was going to be a problem.

All he seemed to be getting were problems.

“Because they left together.” Laurits said, recounting what Magne had told him.

“Yeah.”

A thought crossed Laurits’ mind like a lightning bolt. If you’ll excuse the pun. Something to take his mind off the fact that Gry was leaving with Fjor. He really should not be feeling this jealous. He coughed slightly. The thought was gone. Crisis averted. For now.

“And Saxa?” He asked.

“What about her?” Magne stared at him in confusion.

“She was there, singing. And then I gave my speech.”

“So, she couldn’t have seen anything.”

“Neither could Ran. But I’m more worried about Saxa. She’s vicious.”

“You don’t think Ran could be mad about me _killing her husband?_ ” Magne. Please. For the love of anything you hold sacred. Don’t yell things like that. These walls are paper thin, for crying out loud.

“What I _think_ doesn’t matter because _we don’t know anything_. _But_ , as you’ve asked, I _think_ Ran is more rational than her. I don’t think she would do anything to compromise her position with the people in town.”

“She’s already compromised.”

“She’s a-ah.” Laurits let out a small, incredulous chuckle. “ _Of course_ she’s already compromised. What did you do, you sick son of a bitch?”

“I may or may not have left a couple of those toxic kegs in front of the police station.”

“I may or may not be surprised that you were actually right about that.”

“You’re not.”

“You’re right: I’m not. This town sucks. But I stand by what I said: you really need to quit the Isoldecologist act.”

Magne did not reply.

“Look. The kegs are irrelevant. Ran is not tied to Jutul industries the way Vidar is. Was. May still be.” Continued Laurits.

“But the rumour…”

“Fair point. But still, she may not be legally tied to them.”

“People talk…”

“Shit. Most people talk shit. But yes, as I said, you’ve got a point. She has to keep her reputation, after all…” That was an interesting turn of events.

“So, what do we do?”

“We? Why are you including me?”

“Well, I just told you all this. You’re not just going to sit there and do nothing, are you?” Magne frowned.

But he was right. Laurits was tired of doing nothing. He had done nothing long enough. That situation had changed a few hours ago, actually. And he suposed he could not stand idle for any longer.

“Fine. _We_ will think of something once you get rid of those clothes, shower, and mum comes home and we pretend nothing has happened. You smell like a poorly cooked barbeque.”

Magne let out a big, deep sigh. “Okay.”

“… I’m still mad at you, you know.”

“What for?”

“Um. Electrocuting yourself, for starters.”

“That wasn’t me, that was-”

“Thor. Yeah, yeah. Whatever. What if you _weren’t_ , though. What if you were wrong? You could’ve got hurt.”

“You already said that.”

“And you’ll hear it again!” He said, triumphantly raising his fist in the air. Magne, as usual, just stared at him. Laurits let out his breath, defeatedly. He really couldn’t do anything fun in this house, no one understood pop culture references.

“Look,” he said. “Just go shower. Mum will yell at you for a bit. We’ll have dinner. She’ll take her usual spot in front of the TV, sulk for a while, pass out, and _then_ we can talk. I got to make a few calls.”


End file.
